


Sleep Tight (you know ill always be here)

by gingerbread man (xphantomhive)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Because I'm curious, Hand Over Mouth Over And Over, How do you write quality things?, In case you're curious, M/M, My thirtieth fic let's throw a JohnDave party, Someone dies, Songfic, This is probably awful, by A Lot Like Birds, just a forewarning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xphantomhive/pseuds/gingerbread%20man
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rarely did you rest.</p><p>You would much rather watch him sleep. Watch the rise and fall of his chest, the way he would sometimes crack the gentlest of grins, the way his ebony hair would fan around him to create an inky halo.</p><p> <em>“You don’t have to do this.”</em><br/><em>“I know.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Tight (you know ill always be here)

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry about this.

_ i wish i could, but i cant rest as easy as you_

_ i never really could anyway _

 

He had always slept so peacefully.

You found it more interesting to examine him than sleep yourself, and it wasn’t as if you had ever been able to, anyway. Instead you would sit by him, the bed sinking beneath your weight, and watch. Watch the way his pale skin seemed to glow beneath the artificial lights streaming in from a small window, the way his chest would rise and fall, the way he would sometimes crack the gentlest of a grin, the way his ebony hair would fan out around him to create an inky halo. It was rare for him to toss and turn, the polar opposite of your own sleep. You never could sleep still.

_“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit--” You repeat brokenly, a mantra._

_“Shit what, Dave?” Rose returns quietly, hand resting delicately on your shoulder._

_“Shit, he’s an idiot.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah.”_

Rarely did you sleep.

Watching him had always intrigued you much more than the thought of rest.

* * *

 

_ and thoughts of the future make me worry _

_ heart, settle down! _

_ this isnt your last day _

_ youll wake up tomorrow _

 

On rare occasions, he would sleep so soundly that you could touch him.

There were countless times you had tried, only to wake him up. In these moments, you would have no choice but to hide beneath his bed. When his breathing would go from labored to steady, you would again sit by him. But some nights, he would trudge to his room completely wrecked, and then he would fall so deep into dreamland you would be able to touch him without disturbing him. You never did anything more than ghost your fingers over his exposed skin, from his face to his arms to his hands. He didn’t find out about it, even though you were certain Rose knew of your nightly routine by now. She easily could have told him, but you were thankful she didn’t.

_“He died for me.”_

_Rose stares for an unbroken minute, your words sinking in. “Oh.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_She kneels by you. “Heroic of him.”_

_"Yeah.”_

_You breathe unsteadily, never more glad to have your shades._

_“I tried to bring him back. You know, the whole kissing corpses thing.”_

_“You know it won’t work.”_

_“I do.”_

He woke up once, from a nightmare. You thought he would yell and scream at you to leave, maybe ask you why you were here, but he did nothing more than pull you close and sob into your chest. Through hiccups he told you about the dream, that you had died in it, and that he never wanted to see you die ever again. You had run your fingers through his hair and said, “Takes a lot to kill me. I know you’re worried about the future and shit, but I can promise you this ain’t gonna be my last day, and I’ll wake up tomorrow perfectly fine. Alright?”

Nodding tentatively, he curls closer to you. That night, you do sleep, though it is only for about two hours.

(you never mention to anyone that your heart would not settle.)

* * *

 

_ this bedroom never gets to see the light of day _

_ the shades are always drawn completely_

_ and it only ever seems to come alive at night _

 

You sleep in his room when he does no longer.

Well, you wouldn’t call it sleeping. You lay dormant beneath the sheets he used to and stare at the ceiling, counting the endless amount of cracks. The singular window is always blocked by shades; he used to open it wide, let the breeze flow in. You don’t know how long it’s been since the artificial light has streamed through the window, but the bedroom no longer sees the (fake) light of day.

No one can seem to figure out when night hits here, but you know when it does. As the Knight of Time, you always have a weird sixth sense when it comes to time, even if you have no way of telling whether it is night or day or what year it is or what month it is. You figure out when night hits because that is when the bedroom is most alive.

_The blade is aimed for your heart._

_You freeze. Rarely do you anymore, but this is a moment you have._

_“Dave!”_

_And instead of a blade through your chest, you are met by a face full of dust and rocks._

_He had shoved you out of the way._

_“Oh holy shit, no, no, no, fuck no.”_

* * *

 

_ i took you here to take you from yourself once _

_ and you smiled at me _

_ you smiled shamelessly and often then _

_ but it wasnt enough _

 

You had showed him the bedroom.

Everyone else had marveled at the vast size of the house, too busy with each other to notice anyone or anything else. So you had grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him there, to the room you had stumbled across while the house lay empty. He stares at you for an unbroken moment, before you sheepishly explain, “It’s the only one with a window. You like the breeze and shit, right?”

He had cracked a goofy grin. That was the time when he had smiled shamelessly and often; whenever he got the chance to, he would show off his teeth. But it never was enough, was it? Just to see him smile. You had always searched for more, always met by nothing. “Well, I am the Heir of Breath. That’s like me asking you if you can tell time, Dave.”

You had rolled your eyes beneath your shades, shoving your shoulder against his. “Shut up and bask in the beauty that is your new room. Don’t be an asshole.”

_You drop your sword._

_Of course the enemies would choose this very moment to flee._

_Pricks._

_You run to him and almost trip over your own cape._

_He’s light enough for you to pick him up in your arms._

_You wipe tears from the corners of his eyes._

_“You okay?”_

_He cracks a smile. “You mean aside from the sword in my chest? Well I’m great, Dave.”_

_You can’t help but laugh._

_His smile broadens._

_“You’re going to be okay. I promise.”_

_The goofy grin he holds breaks to a barely-there smile._

_“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”_

_(never had you wished more that your lie had been the truth.)_

 

* * *

 

_ i read your thoughts like sifting through your cabinets while you were out of the room_

_ i stole every treasured thought you had and left you gutted when i could find no more_

_ you had poems written on the roof of your mouth _

_ and i scraped them out with my tongue and spat them onto the floor _

_ where they dried up and blew away _

_ and the butterflies in your stomach were always pinned to the skin on the inside _

_ and if i didnt love you then i love you now _

_ but its easy to love something when theres pain in its eyes _

 

He never did figure out about you watching him in his sleep.

But he did, however, force you to the room with him once. He made you sit on the bed while he made a quick trip to the bathroom, and when he came back he forced you to take your shoes off. You felt a twinge of confusion, but you had done it anyway, simply because he had asked. Then he crawled beside you and grabbed your arm, swung it around his shoulders, and curled into your chest. You, Dave Strider, had found yourself at a loss for words in that moment. The butterflies in your stomach were wild; you had wondered briefly if John had any of his own butterflies.

(you didn't think so.

and if he did, they were all pinned to the skin on the inside.)

“Ran out of words, huh coolkid?” He teased, grinning widely.

You shrugged.

The two of you lay still like that, finding solace in the presence of one another. You read his thoughts like you went through his piles of junk, even though he had told you numerous times you would find nothing. When you had thought you’d found all there was to find, you quit your hunt for what he had been thinking of.

He had eventually shrugged your arm off, and before you knew it his lips were on yours and your tongue was brushing the roof of his mouth and he was smiling into the kiss, awful as it was; neither of you were very experienced in that department.

_You don’t know if you loved him before._

_It doesn’t matter if you did._

_It doesn’t matter if you didn’t._

_Because you love him now._

_But then again, it’s easy to love someone with pain in their eyes._

_“I’m going to die, right?”_

_You breathe deep._

_He turns his body and whimpers._

_“Pull the sword out of me.”_

_You don’t think you can go through with something so gruesome --_

_But you remember you once threw your own dead body from a window._

_You dislodge the sword and block out his whimpers of pain._

_Once it’s out, you toss it aside._

_He bleeds more._

_You do the best you can with what you have, meaning you unclasp your cape and wrap it tightly around him._

_You hold him close and try to keep pressure on the wound._

_“You don’t have to do this.”_

_“I know.”_

(you had stayed with him until he took his final breath.

you’d kissed him.

it didn’t work.

his death was heroic --

he had taken a sword for you.

you realize that even if you hadn’t loved him before,

you love him now.)

* * *

 

_ this isnt your last day, youll wake up tomorrow _

_ this isnt your last day, youll wake up tomorrow _

_ so i pull the shades back, let the light pour through every crack i slammed into the window _

_ will the good parts stay in limbo? _

_ why can i only remember when you said you’d love me better if i left? _

_ and not the way you said, a thousand times, that if i left youd die? _

 

The after is worse than anything you can imagine.

But you tire of darkness after an amount of time you can’t keep track of, so you swing the curtains and light pours in. Fake as it is, something about it consoles you. Rather than trekking back to the bed, you stand there, staring. The sheet is pulled around your shoulders, similar to the cape you used to wear. It’s hung in the closet, but no matter how many times you wash it the faint of blood clings. And you cannot walk around wearing his blood.

_"Do you even love me?”_

He had asked you once. You had frozen in your tracks, unable to respond. Did you? Did you love him? A small part of you declares that you do, but there are other parts convincing you no, you do not. He’s nothing more than your boyfriend, you only like him, not love him. When you had only stared, he had scoffed.

_“You know what, that was a stupid question,”_

His voice had shook. You had hoped he wouldn’t cry, and he hadn’t.

(not in front of you, anyway.)

_“I don’t think I love you either. It was different before; maybe I’d love you better if you just, left.”_

He had not meant to hurt you, that you knew. But his words had stung, worse than any bruise or cut you’d ever gotten. Eventually you had completely forgotten about it, but after it happened (his death) you remembered. It was one of the only things you could.

The other was something he had said a thousand times over.

_“You know, I think I’d die if you left.”_

There was always a laugh that accompanied it, but you knew he was not merely joking. Those words had been serious, even if he didn’t want you to know they had been.

You stare out the window with your chin on your hand and wonder if he’s in a dream bubble, waiting for you to come see him. The thought of seeing him is enough to drive you into bed, and for the first time in god knows how long, you close your eyes and make a desperate attempt to sleep.

(you drift off quickly.

when you awake, you’re laying in your old bed --

his head is tucked beneath your chin. a sheet is thrown hastily over you two.

he blinks a few times. his eyes open. they are blank.

“i’ve been waiting for a while, you know. why didn’t you hurry up?”

you can’t help but crack a very uncool grin. at the moment, you don’t care.

“sorry john, but i don’t think you have much to do anyway. you’re dead.”

“i have important dead people things to do. you’re a doofus. kiss me.”

you do.)

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is awful. I really do not like my writing.
> 
> Bluh.
> 
> Despite that, thank you for reading, whether you kudos/comment/bookmark/whatever.


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